


Sleep Patterns

by fandammit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandammit/pseuds/fandammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you following me, Marcus?” she asked. </p><p>There was no bite to her words, though, where there once might have been. She’s too tired, Marcus too perceptive, and they’ve both been through too much together. </p><p>He kept looking at her, patiently, his lips quirking as if to say - I can wait here all night if I have to - and finally she gave in. </p><p>Because she knew that he would be stubborn enough to actually wait there all night; it’s what makes him so infuriating to her, at times. Still, she can’t stop the warmth that blooms in her chest because of it. <br/>-----<br/>A.K.A Marcus has spent the last three months making sure that Abby gets to bed at a (somewhat) reasonable hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> Because Marcus knowing Abby's sleeping patterns in the premiere made me feel things.

“When’s the last time you slept?” 

The words knocked Abby out of her reverie, startling her back into the present, surrounded by charts and half filled bottles of medicine in the medical bay. 

“I sleep.”  She said tersely, in a tone that normally declared the matter shut. 

A tone that seemed to work on everyone else but Marcus, at least. 

“No,” Marcus replied firmly, “you don’t. You stayed up the other night when Harper came back injured, and then kept working because Jackson came down with the flu. The night before that, you were up organizing the new stock from Mount Weather.” 

He reached out and took the bottle from her hand. He cupped her elbow and gently pulled her towards the door. 

“Are you following me, Marcus?” she asked. 

There was no bite to her words, though, where there once might have been. She’s too tired, Marcus too perceptive, and they’ve both been through too much together. 

He kept looking at her, patiently, his lips quirking as if to say - I can wait here all night if I have to - and finally she gave in. 

Because she knew that he would be stubborn enough to actually wait there all night; it’s what makes him so infuriating to her, at times. Still, she can’t stop the warmth that blooms in her chest because of it. 

* * *

Marcus walked her to her door and all but ordered her not to come out of her room until at least 8 a.m.

“You do know that I’m the Chancellor, right?” She huffed, but her eyes were teasing.

Marcus smiled.

“8 a.m, Abby,” is all he said in return. He softly skated his fingers up her arm and gave her a gentle squeeze before he turned to go.

* * *

Three nights later he found her in the equipment intake room, doing inventory that he’s almost 100% sure he assigned to a new guard and not the Chancellor of Arkadia. When he points this out to her, she simply shrugged and said she’d sent whatever strapping young man he’d entrusted with this job to bed.

At his raised eyebrow she simply said, “He seemed tired.” 

“So do you.” 

“I’m doing fine,” she ground out, turning her attention away from him and back to the supplies at hand. 

He folded his arms across his chest. 

“Abby, this morning you almost fell asleep eating breakfast. And you keep having to sit down in the med bay because your exhaustion is making you dizzy and nauseated.” 

He saw her stiffen and mutter something under her breath that sounded vaguely like a threat towards Jackson. She put down a stack of bandages and wheeled around sharply on him, while he planted his feet and readied himself for an argument. 

“Marcus, I'm perfectly capable of -” 

The rest of her sentence was lost in a surprised (and creative, if Marcus had to describe it) string of curse words. Instead of advancing on him with self righteous indignation, a wave of dizziness overcame her; she ended up reaching hand out to steady herself and then gave up and leaned heavily on his chest.

He slid his hand up her arm and pulled her gently to him. 

“Abby, I know you're perfectly capable of anything. But decidedly much less when you don't get enough sleep.” He looked down at her and forced himself to gently push her away from him. 

He still kept his hand on her arm, though, to make sure she was steady. 

She sighed and, after a long moment, nodded.

He walked her to her room, his hand ghosting above her lower back, close enough to feel her warmth but not close enough to touch. 

* * *

Two nights went by and he found her sitting outside in a darkened corner of the open yard, eyes staring out across the gated entrance.

He sat down next to her, shoulder just barely grazing hers.

After a moment, he leaned forward as if to speak but only let out a soft sigh instead when he saw her bite her lip and turn her face upwards towards the sky. 

“I really thought we’d find her today.” She breathed out, a slight quaver in her voice. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.” 

She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned her head on her shoulder; looked over at him with a sad smile. 

“She doesn’t want to be found, I know. She isn’t ready to come home.” She took a deep breath and wrapped herself up tighter. “I just feel like if I could just talk to her…” She trailed off and closed her eyes, an ultimately futile effort to stem the tears that now cut a trail down her weary face. 

She heard a rustle as Marcus moved closer to her. The heavy warmth of his arm settled around her shoulders and tugged her closer to him so she could lean against him. She briefly considered getting up - somehow it didn’t seem appropriate to be this close to him, out in the open where anyone might see - but ultimately decided against it. She was tired: tired from worrying about Clarke, tired of keeping her spine straight and eye flinty as the face of leadership. More than that, she was too tired to pretend that she didn’t need this closeness or to ignore the steady beating want of her heart. 

She breathed out shakily and let the tension drain from her body, leaned her head fully on Marcus’s shoulder and brought her hand up to rest on his chest. 

“I’m just so tired, Marcus.” 

He nodded his head and then leaned it against hers. His hand was drifting up and down her arm in slow, soft strokes, as though he wasn’t quite aware that he was doing it.

“I know. That’s why I keep dragging you off to bed.” 

She breathed out a laugh. 

“Well, drag away. I won’t even try to fight you on it tonight.”

She felt him smile down at her. Neither of them made a move to get up, though, content to simply lean on one another under the open night sky. She felt herself slowly being lulled to sleep by the warmth of Marcus next to her, the steady beat of his heart, the soft touch of his hand brushing up and down her arm. 

* * *

It was nearly an hour later when Marcus gently shook her awake, an apology in his eyes.

“I’m sor -” He began, but she interrupted him before he could the whole word out. 

“Don’t be.” She smiled up at him before she got up and stretched

“That was the best sleep I’ve had in months.” 

His answering smile buoyed her through the next twelve hours of work around the camp. 

* * *

It’s three weeks later when Marcus finds himself with a small weight of worry in the middle of his chest. By some unspoken agreement, he’d made it a habit to check on Abby around one a.m. or so every night to make sure that she got to bed, while she came to say goodnight to him on the rare nights when managed to tear herself away from working before he sought her out.

However, right now it’s close to 2 in the morning and he hasn’t seen her or been able to find her. There are only a few places that she’d be this late into the night and he’d exhausted all of them. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why he’s worried - the peace treaty has held these two long months and the people are happy with their Chancellor, so he doesn’t really have any threats from inside or outside the camp to worry about. And Abby is neither foolish enough nor impulsive enough to venture outside of the camp on her own, without telling anyone.

Still, he’d feel better if he knew where she was. 

He decided to double back and check the medical area again when he heard a voice call out his name behind him. 

He turned to see Raven shuffling over to him, only a slight grimace on her face from the pain he knew she felt from her leg but was trying to desperately conceal. He filed that fact away to discuss with Abby when he saw her next. After she’d gotten a good night’s rest. 

“Hey, so -.” She stopped and looked him square in the face. “Are you ok?” 

His worry about Abby must’ve been more plainly written on his face than he’d thought. 

“Yeah, I’m just looking…” He caught himself, strangely reluctant to say that he was looking for Abby. 

Raven looked momentarily confused by his hesitation, before she raised her eyebrow and her lips twitched up in a grin. 

“No need to worry,” she said, amusement lilting through her words. “I’m glad I ran into you. One of the guard’s coming off duty told me that Abby’s fallen asleep in a booth in the union.” 

“Oh,” he said, the worry disappearing from his chest as he fell into step next to her. 

“I was going to go and tell her ass to get to bed but…” she looked up at Marcus, scrutinizing him closely. “I figure you’re the better man for the job since you’re always the one making sure she doesn’t drop dead from exhaustion. Wouldn’t wanna break up the cute little routine you two have.” 

She shot him a last cheeky grin before turning into the hallway that led to her room.

* * *

 

He looked down at Abby, tucked away into the furthest corner booth in the cafeteria union. Her arms were folded across her chest, legs drawn up tight to her body, head resting against her shoulder in such a way that he knew she’d have a major neck cramp when she woke up. Still, she looked peaceful; the worries that were so plainly written on her face during her waking hours had been smoothed over in sleep. 

He had a fleeting, irrational wish to be a young man again, just so he could scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed himself. He wondered if even now he might be able to anyway - Abby was a half a foot shorter than him and lithe enough to fit into his arms. After a moment, he shook his head ruefully; he could pick her up, but even the strongest will in the world couldn’t overcome age and the fact that his leg would never quite be the same after a concrete beam had fallen on it in TonDC. 

He hesitated to wake her, even though he knew she’d get better rest in the quiet coolness of her own room; he knew how desperately she needed rest and how infrequently she actually got it. 

The decision was made for him, however, when a small whimper came from Abby. Her face contracted into fear as she shrank herself smaller into the corner of the booth. Her breathing, which had been slow and even, suddenly began to come in short, frantic bursts. He leaned over into the booth and set a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. 

She came awake with a start, arms jerking loose from her body. She looked at Marcus without really seeing him, eyes blearily searching past him in barely contained alarm. She scrambled to the edge of the seat and got up quickly, knocking into him.

“Hey,” he said quickly, hands reaching out to firmly grab both her arms. “It's ok. It was a dream. Everything’s ok.” 

She blinked quickly up at him and pressed both her hands to his chest. He felt the rigid lines of her body soften as she dipped her head and exhaled out a shaky laugh. 

“Sorry about that.” She breathed out. 

He made a reassuring noise and, after a moment’s pause, slid his hands up her arms and settled them on her back instead. He could still feel the rapid burst of her heart, so he lifted one hand to her head. He began to slowly run a hand through her hair, hoping to clear any nightmarish images from her mind. 

Abby sighed, trailed her hands down his chest, and wrapped them around his waist. She drew herself close enough to rest her head on his chest. She felt his breath catch for a moment before he tucked her head gently under his chin and continued trailing his hand up and down her hair. She closed her eyes and focused on keeping her breathing slow and even.

Marcus could feel her relaxing into the warmth of his body; her breathing evened out to the point where he briefly wondered if she had somehow managed to fall asleep standing up in his arms. 

“Abby?” He murmured in her ear. He felt a shiver lance through her and frowned, tightening his arms slightly around her. “Cold?”

He heard her laugh softly as she shook her head. She tipped her head up slightly so that he could feel the warmth of her reply ghost across his neck. 

“Thank you, Marcus.” 

He suppressed a shiver of his own and swallowed as his pulse jumped in his throat.  He trailed his hands back down to her arms, stepping back from her slightly so that he could talk to her without her noticing the reactions of his own mutinous body. 

“Come on, let’s get you to a bed that doesn’t smell like cooking grease.”

She stepped out of his embrace and reached back into the booth to grab her data pad. After a moment’s hesitation, he settled his hand on the small of her back and led her out into the hallway and down to her room. 

She turned in the doorway of her room and looked up at him, her dark framing her face and throwing shadows across her eyes. He suddenly had an almost overwhelming desire to reach up and brush her hair back, to tuck it behind her ears and let his hand drift down the softness of her cheek. The only thing that stopped him was the surprising pressure of her hand on his.

“Good night, Marcus.” She said, smiling up at him. 

He smiled back down at her. 

“Good night, Abby.” 

She squeezed his hand before letting go and turned to go into her room. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and headed back to his own room. For once, he didn’t fall asleep with thoughts of guard patrols or equipment lists; instead, he thought of the softness of Abby’s hair, the warmth of her hand, the possibilities of the future. 


End file.
